Across the Universe
by Khaelis
Summary: The little boy born on Gallifrey knows his soulmate is somewhere, sometime, out there. The little girl born on Earth doesn't know her life has always been tied to another. The little boy just needs to find her. The little girl just needs to wait for him. [Soulmate AU ; First published on AO3]
1. Two Lives, One Destiny

The bright yellow leaves of the wheat caressed his palm, tickled his skin. Sometimes, his small fingers would hook around an ear, unwillingly plucking out a few grains. He didn't mind. He knew the grains would give birth to new plants, eventually. His feet, protected by a thin layer of grey cotton that matched the material of his dirty tunic, ploughed the dry earth at each step. He wished he could run faster, and he wished he hadn't been unlucky to be born with a defect that had gifted him with crooked knees. If he managed to pass the examination, graduate, and thus be granted with a few regenerations, maybe he would regenerate into a better body. A healthier one. And a prettier one, too. He hated his face. He had never thought much of it when he was younger, but as soon as he had started going to the Academy, he had become self-conscious. A downpour of scorn and mockery at his snub nose, his big mouth, his hollow cheeks and his thick eyebrows had rained down on his fragile shoulders from the moment he'd stepped in his classroom. It had taken a mere few days for his effervescent and joyful character to be smothered down with a dark veil of diffidence and modesty.

That was why he liked it. Running through the fields of bloomed wheat in the summer, where the plants were high enough to mute the sneers and the laughs, far enough to keep the disdainful faces out of sight. Peaceful. Comforting. Liberating.

His lungs expanded, filled with fresh air, and he accompanied the frightened chirping of the birds taking flight at his approach with a loud hoot of his own. His bowed legs wailed in protest when he took a sharp turn on the right, but it was another kind of pain he was too used to to care. The deafening sound of the leaves brushing against his head and of the wind blowing in his ears suddenly died down, as soon as he emerged from the edge of the field and stopped dead in his tracks, bending forward with his hands on his deformed knees. The only sound that remained was the heavy puffs coming out of his mouth, the pounding of his double-heartbeat in his skeletal chest - a heartbeat he had trouble getting used to - and the blood rushing in his veins to keep his muscles oxygenated - he also had trouble triggering his respiratory bypass system when he needed it. Unfortunate, but then again, fortune had never quite been watching over him ever since he'd been born.

His eyes lifted up to observe the dark, tiny entrance to the cave he liked to call his refuge, and a smile tugged at his lips. With a giggle that had a scared mouse scurry away in the field behind him, he spurred his legs into a trot that took him to the cave. The hole that pierced the rock at the bottom was the only way to penetrate into its confined intimacy, and it was just large enough to let his skinny body slither through it. His hands entered first, fingers finding purchase around smooth stones anchored in the humid earth so that he could pull the rest of his body inside. It was dark, only lit by the thin stream of light coming through the slit in the rockwall, but he knew his way around that cave like the back of his hand, if not even better. He groped his path to the oil lantern he had hung on a hook-shaped stalactite, bowing his head or bending it on the side whenever he had to avoid treacherous lengths of rock falling from the ceilings like sharp blades. His fingers went to the small wooden box tucked in the makeshift belt he had tied around his waist to hold his too-large tunic in place - an uncouth rope he had stolen on a bag of vegetables. The box was carved with Gallifreyan motifs he was quite unable to translate, and he flicked the small lock open with his thumb. He carefully picked one of the few matches he had left, stroke it on the side and used it to inflame the burner.

Shadows danced on the asperities of the walls - sometimes, his hearts would stutter in his chest at the impression that someone had managed to enter his refuge, but it was always short-lived. No one ever came. No one would ever come. He adjusted the size of the slow burning flame and gave an appreciative hum when he was satisfied with the dim light shedding its orange color in the cave.

He sat on the small cushion he had snatched in the library of the Academy, in front of the improvised desk made of a simple wood plank. Out of habit, he rolled the moth-eaten sleeve of his tunic to reveal his forearm. He loved seeing that mark there. A nacre, intricate pattern that reflected the soft light of the lamp. It was desperately still, and just as hopelessly flat and dull. Nothing like the marks all the others displayed with frivolous pride. It was supposed to shine, the lines were supposed to move under his skin, give the smooth, pale expense some relief. Signs that his soulmate was waiting for him somewhere. But, not unlike everything else that happened in his execrable life, something was amiss with his soulmark. He had looked for answers in books he couldn't read, scrolls he couldn't decipher, engravings he couldn't make sense of - and, quite plainly, it hadn't helped with his matters. He had almost given up on the hope for a better future when the Sage of his village had visited him on a dark winter night. They had sat together, face to face, by the fire roaring in the fireplace. And he'd listened to her. She had told him about the story of The Overseer, one of his ancestor that had walked Gallifrey at a time when the planet was only in its early decades. The Overseer had worn a mark just like his, that had remained dormant for centuries. He had travelled every mountain, every forest and every desert, in search of his soulmate, never to find them. One night, moments before he'd been about to commit the irreparable, a beautiful creature from another world had knocked on his door. His soulmate.

And it was on that night that he had decided never to let hope slip away from his fingers again. He had a mark. He had a soulmate. He didn't know where they were, when they were, but he knew someday he would find them. He even considered himself lucky to have been blessed with an outworlder soulmate. It made him special. And that was the only thing that kept him going, the only piece of knowledge that would get him through the Academy curriculum and allow him to pass the final examination. And then, when he'd finally be a Time Lord and be gifted with his very own Tardis, he'd set out to travel the universe and find his soulmate - if they didn't find him first.

He opened the heavy book on the wood plank, a small cloud of dust rising in the air that made him forcefully rub his nose with the back of his hand to keep a sneeze in. Then, he picked up a blank piece of rough paper and his favorite, and only, quill. A jet black feather, so long that its tip tickled his jaw when he was writing, that ended with a golden nib sizzled with one of the few Gallifreyan symbols he knew of - a symbol that roughly translated into Doctor. That quill was the only object he had inherited from his Time Lord father. He treasured it like a relique, even though he had found out long ago that it was just a worthless trinket, probably bought on a market in the pauperised neighbourhoods of the Citadel. And that was why he had decided that, when he'd finally be a Time Lord himself, he would chose a title that could be paired with his legacy. The Doctor. Fitting, he thought, given that he wanted to help people, heal them, make their life easier than his own. A title well-chosen he hoped he'd be worthy of - and to achieve this goal, he had to work.

He flipped through the hundreds pages of his book, some kind of Gallifreyan bible the gathered all the secrets of his language. Oh, he knew how to speak it, when it came to answering questions in his lessons he was always the first to blabber without end on the subject, and he could understand almost everything, save for a few words of vocabulary that were rarely used, even by the Elders. But he wanted to read it, and write it.

Often, he would dream of learning everything that could be learnt about the universe, the secrets safe-guarded among the stars, reading about them in the columns of books piling up in the endless library. After all, he couldn't risk disappointing his soulmate. He had to be able to talk about their home planet, lest he'd make a fool of himself, or even appear to be a rude and simpleminded alien.

And then, some other times, his soft and maudlin nature would take the upper hand, and he'd imagine writing down passionate odes and romantic poems that he would get to recite to his soulmate on the day they'd meet. After all, he couldn't risk offending his soulmate with poorly chosen words. He had to be able to caress her soul and prove himself to be a kind and gentle lover, lest he'd ruin the only chance he might get at seducing them.

So, his hold tightened around his quill and his index ran on the yellowed page of the encyclopedia, before it stopped on the one word he'd been dying to learn for days. Dozens of circles, some full, some cut in two, some interlacing to create intricate rosaces. Dots that needed to be perfectly placed beside or within circle lines, thin segments that needed to be perfectly angled, with no other tool than the thick tip of his quill. He had always heard that it was a complex emotion, quite possibly the most complex of all, so he hadn't been surprised to find out that this word was one of the most difficult to write. But he wanted, needed to master it. How could he demonstrate his love to his soulmate if he couldn't write the word, let alone read it?

His first tries were hesitant, the lines jagged and uneven, the ink blotting all over the page in a mess of dark spots. Of course, a compass would have made the task easier, but, of course, his had broken the week before and he hadn't managed to gather enough credits to buy a new one - he would have gladly thieved one from the classroom, if only the teacher didn't keep his vulture eyes on him at all times.

He kept trying, his hand gaining confidence minute after minute, the tip of his quill brushing against the paper instead of chiselling rivulets of black ink. After more than an hour, his wrist started to ache, and the flame from the oil lamp started to quiver, as if to warn him that it wouldn't be long before it'd give its last breath. He didn't give up. Soon, an impressive pile of used paper stood on the corner of his plank, and he picked the last sheet of paper to give the accursed word one last go.

His brow knitted in a frown of concentration, he wiped his clammy hands on the coarse cotton of his tunic and he bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He took a deep breath, and started drawing the outer circle of the word. He didn't need to, because he had had enough time to learn the symbol by heart, but he still kept stealing quick looks at the book, just in case his anxious mind wanted to trick him. It took long minutes of nibbling his lower lip, cursing under his breath and abusing the corner of his page with sweaty fingers, but he eventually pressed the tip of his quill one final time. The last dot.

He dropped his black feather on the floor and lifted the page up to see it under the dying light of the lamp. His eyes flew from the paper he was holding to the open page of the book, once, twice, joy starting to bubble in the pit of his stomach as he realized that this last attempt was his best so far. Not only was it its best, but when he ripped the page of the book and stuck it behind his own to observed the differences by transparency, he realized that it was also perfect. A perfect calligraphy that could have put most of his tutors to shame.

"I did it!" he shouted as loud as his throat constricted with joy would allow him to. "I finally did it! Soulmate, I love you!"

He jumped to his feet and danced around his very own refuge with his achievement tightly pressed against his chest, his mind roaring a song that filled him with a felicity he had never had the pleasure to experience. Through his excitement and the heavy tears of joy rolling down his cheeks, he didn't see the soft glow that shone from his forearm for a fraction of a second.

The ten-year-old boy from Gallifrey missed the one moment his mark came to life for the first time in his morose existence, unaware that this tiny fraction of a second was a pin at the juncture of his timeline, and that of his soulmate. The very first time their lives would coincide in the immensity of time and space, and the last time for a few centuries.

"I'm the Doctor, and I love you!" he giggled, dropping down on the humid earth.

He lied there for long minutes, the precious piece of paper cradled in his arm, as he tried to imagine what his soulmate would be like, would look like, would smell like, a fond and happy smile splitting his face in two. The flame of the lamp died in a soft breath, a murmur of relief and delight.

The heavy pink duvet felt too hot and she kicked it off her body with a disgruntled groan. She had never understood why her mother always deemed necessary to bury her under so many layers of sheets and covers that she more often than not ended up shoving away anyway. She was still hovering above the thin frontiere between shallow slumber and awareness, and she nestled her face deeper in her pillow, hoping sleep would get the better of her before she could wake up completely. The dim light of the moon filtered through the pale blue curtains of muslin that framed her window, just enough to tickle her eyelids and tear another groan of discontent from her mouth. She rolled on the other side, a yawn threatening to dislocate her jaw, and she willed her body to relax into the mattress. She didn't fancy the idea of being tired the day later - it would be ill-advised to sleep-walk at her own birthday party.

That last thought had tiny bubbles of excitement rise in her stomach, and it only made falling back asleep all the harder. With a sigh of defeat, she opened her eyes and pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard. A quick look at the robot-shaped alarm clock on her bedside table told her that it was five to midnight. Five minutes until she would turn ten years old.

She slid down the bed and tiptoed in silence to the window - the last thing she wanted was to wake her mother up and imperil the big birthday party she had planned. Without a sound, she sat on the window sill and pressed her nose against the cold glass of the window, looking up at the dark canvas of the night sky, sprinkled with hundreds of twinkling stars, the moon a tiny ping-pong ball that seemed to float over the far end of the capital city. She really hoped her mother had bought her the telescope she'd been asking for for weeks. Her fascination for the stars and the universe had no end, and she often imagined what it would be like to go up there, among all those little lights that seemed so close and were yet so far.

Another quick glance at the clock. Two to midnight. When she pressed her nose back against the window, she noticed the condensation that came with her breath. And she realized that she was humming. Her eyes grew wide under the fear that her mother might hear her, and panic seeped into her veins when she found it impossible to stop singing. She couldn't even understand the lyrics to that song, couldn't remember ever hearing it before, but her voice kept rolling down her tongue and flowing past her lips, against her best will. She clasped her hands above her mouth and retreated back to her bed, pressing her face against a heart-shaped cushion to keep the noise down as she fumbled around to draw the heavy duvet back over her body.

One to midnight. Her heart leapt into her chest when a second voice joined hers. A soft voice, a merry voice, probably belonging to a kid her age, most certainly a boy. Her eyes travelled around the room to find him - as if he might have hidden under her bed or inside her cupboard during the day and had waited until that moment to make a surprise apparition for her birthday. But there was no one in sight. The voice sung louder, so loud her body vibrated at each powerful syllable they ended up singing in chorus - and it was only then that she understood that voice wasn't coming from the room. It was coming from inside her own head.

She could do nothing but listen to that voice, to the melody of the song, the beautiful words echoing against her skull in the most perfect and magnificent music she had ever heard. Before she could stop them, tears begun to fall freely from her eyes, and her stomach swooped with a feeling she had never felt before. The song grew in intensity, building up in powerful harmonies that caused the next lyrics to flow past her lips in a choked sob. And, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Chest heaving and breath short, she looked at the alarm clock. Midnight.

If her arm hadn't been trapped under her pillow, she might have seen the lines glowing under skin for a fraction of a second. But she missed it.

The ten-year-old girl from Earth missed the one moment that marked the beginning of something she was galaxies away from imagining, the one moment that pinned the exact time and place when her timeline crossed the one of the owner of the voice. The first time in her life, and the last time for a whole decade.

"Happy birthday, Rose Tyler," she murmured to herself, gathering her legs close to her chest.

She wiped the tears that refused to dry on her cheeks with the back of her hand, and she went back to sleep. Unaware that lightyears away, millions of years in her future, a small boy her age was falling asleep on humid earth in a dark cave.


	2. Here Comes the Sun

_Tap, tap, tap_. From her seat, it was easy to get distracted, especially during a lesson she didn't like. Tap, tap, tap. Her eyes fell on a pearl of rain that slowly rolled down the window, gathering dust and dirt on its path, until a tiny nick cut it in half. One drop remained comfortably nestled in the nick, the other kept going, joining the same trickle one of its companion had embarked on. _Tap, tap, tap_. Her attention as drawn beyond the frame of the window, towards one of the few old trees that dotted the playground. They were so ancient their roots had managed to make the hard concrete crack and to break free from its tight lock. The many rifts were overflooded with rain, and the water followed the same pattern as the one steadily dripping over the foggy glass. _Tap, tap, tap_. She felt she could relate to that water. A free element that led a steady life when the weather was nice. The smooth surface of a lake, the lazy stroll of a stream in its riverbed, the soft ripples that coursed through the blue expense of a sea. _Tap, tap, tap_. An angry, ruthless element that had to submit to the caprices of Jupiter when the God fancied producing a storm from the tip of his fingers. The lakes would stir into small waves that crashed over the shores of white pebbles, the seas would run riot and the ripples would turn into giant jaws that could swallow people alive, the rivers would evolve into torrents that could rip and uproot everything in its wild chase towards the ocean. And there was absolutely nothing water could do about it. _Tap, tap, tap_. She was a bit like that. An element that was going through a pretty rough storm and had lost to the last drop of freedom it had possessed. She could only find comfort in the knowledge that every storm was bound to come to an end, at some point.

 _Tap, tap_ … She looked down at the pencil she had been drumming on the edge of her small desk for long minutes, and a weary sigh left her lips when the pink rubber bounced on her desperately blank piece of paper, came to a stop, then initiated a slow descent she didn't try to stop. She simple stared at it as it fatally reached the edge of the worn desk and fell on the floor. She sniffed, unconsciously wiping her nose with the back of her sleeve, and took a quick peek at her watch. Thirty more minutes to go. She looked at her maths teacher - an old, disheveled scarecrow with a bad habit of spraying too much cheap perfume all over her clothes, one of the reasons why her classroom had been given the sweet nickname of polecat burrow. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find it in her to focus on any of her classes. Her voice was to monotonous, dull, her explanations were shadowy at best, indecipherable at worst, and her red pen seemed to never have enough ink left to write anything more than monosyllabic comments on their papers. Good. Poor. Weak. She had long abandoned the wishful desire of getting anything better than a poor, and had long given up the idea of pursuing anything maths-related anyway. She sniffled again and rubbed her nose a bit more forcefully.

"Tyler. Psst, Tyler!"

She looked at the boy her age that had probably missed a few steps in his development, given he was at least two heads shorter than anyone else in the class. Shorter, yes, but also the most formidable bully the class counted in its ranks - a mention of his name or of the muscles he had probably grown to compensate for his height was enough to make anyone frown in disgust or cower in fear. He bent toward her with a snicker falling from his rosy lips and he threw a small blue package on her desk, which rewarded him with a few giggles from his posse - or so he liked to call the bunch of stupid boys that could have licked the mud he left in his wake with his soiled sneakers. She picked up the packet and turned it over in her hands.

"Your snout's on its period again," the curly-haired boy chuckled silently. "Might want to stick a tampon up there."

She looked down at her sleeve and noticed the bright red stain that was spreading along the coarse meshes of her woolen jumper. Another blot of blood crashed over her blank piece of paper when she blew an annoyed sigh through her nose. With a resigned shake of her head, she shoved the blue packet in her pencil case and zipped it a bit more forcefully that she intended to. She was quick to stuff the few items she had deemed necessary to take out in her tiny backpack along with her raincoat, slung it over her shoulder and walked towards the door with purposeful strides, not bothered in the least that the lesson was only half-way through.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, Miss Tyler?" the old scarecrow asked with a frown of irritation.

"Infirmary," she answered with a shrug, the blood-stained paper fluttering down on her desk. "Cerebral hemorrhage from all that crap that drips into my ears every time I walk in here. Sorry 'bout that."

She didn't wait for an answer, ignored the cheers that followed her cheeky comment, and fled the classroom before the almost senile teacher could do anything about it. Her brand new chucks squeaked on the dull green linoleum of the corridor as she made her way towards the nearest toilets. It would be ill-advised to wander in the school during lesson hours and the last thing she wanted was to get stuck in the headteacher's office pleading for a case she was bound to lose. She dropped her backpack on the counter next to the sink and fetched some toilet paper in a stall. The sound of the running tap drowned the one of the rain lashing at the thin window as she cleaned the remnants of blood that had dried on her upper lip. She stuffed her nose with a bit of the rough paper and leaned against the counter with a heavy exhale that created a thick layer of condensation on the mirror. Her own eyes stared back at her, and she wondered if this truly was the image of a fifteen year-old girl. She certainly had a penchant for make-up - the more visible, the better. The smoky eyes were something she had always been drawn to, and she had to admit it made the deep whiskey colour of her irises stand out in the most beautiful ways. That was the only thing she liked about her face. The only thing she was proud of. Her nose was okay, when blood-soaked toilet paper wasn't peeking out of her nostril. But her mouth was too full and her jaw too square, and that was something make-up couldn't hide.

She went to the window after making sure the bleeding had completely stopped, and hopped on the counter to get a better look at the same trees she had been observing back in the classroom. When the sun wasn't drowned by dark, threatening clouds, she usually could see the birds caper from one branch to the other or fly in lazy circled above their crowns of bright green leaves, hear their merry chirps and tweets. She liked to imagine what it would feel like, to just go up there in the sky, feel the wind in her hair and the cold air on her skin. Sometimes, her reveries took her even further away from that boring earth she treaded everyday. Beyond the sky, through the stars, roaming around a universe for the rest of her days. That was dream she'd had on more occasions than one. Ever since her mother had given her that telescope for her tenth birthday, not a single night went by without her staring through the lense and trying to map all the constellations she carefully catalogued in a notepad.

It must have had something to do with that recurring dream she had of travelling the immensity of space in her very own spaceship. The best part about that dream was that she never was alone. There always was this young man with ginger curls and dark green eyes travelling alongside her. A figment of her imagination that had become one of the few sources of comfort she could nestle into when her burdens became too heavy to bear on lonely nights. A figment of her imagination she had grown fond of over the years, something she prayed would grace her dreams every night before she slipped under her duvet. A figment of her imagination that was staring at her from the corner of a building on the other side of the playground, a goofy smile spread over his weird features.

Her heart missed a beat in her chest, then burst into a wild gallop that threatened to crack her ribs. Her eyes widened, so did his, with a disconcerting simultaneity. He had seen her looking back at him.

"Fuck," she cursed under her breath when he disappeared into a back alley.

She rushed to grab her bag and dashed through the door, up the corridors, hurtled down the three flights of stairs that led to automatic door opening on the playground. She winced when the cold rain drenched her jumper within seconds and tried to limit the damage, holding her backpack protectively over her head. Her chucks were far from waterproof, and the puddles her heavy steps inevitably fell into were deep enough to make dirty water splash on the thin fabric of her shoes, seeping through the eyelets and soaking her socks. Her inner soles squished as she spurred her legs to run faster, despite the jeans that were now glued to her skin and hampered her movements. Soon, she reached the same corner of the decrepit building where he'd been standing, but he was nowhere in sight. The alley was a dead-end, there weren't any doors, not even a sewer drain he could have crept into to hide from her. He had simply vanished into thin air.

She could have believed her imagination had once again played vicious tricks on her eyes, if it weren't for the large piece of paper whose corners fluttered in the gentle wind, lying in the middle of the alleyway. She looked up to the corrugated sheet that hung low between the two buildings and thanked whoever might be listening that it protected the paper from the heavy rain. She crouched next to it and tucked the wet strands of her blond hair behind her ears to prevent any drops of water from maring the deep blue ink running over the page. She pinched one of the corners to get a better look at it, but that single contact was enough to make her gasp, a searing burn coursing through her forearm so unexpectedly she had to let go of the parchment. Her head shot to the side when she heard the bell ring, and she knew that, soon, the playground would be submerged by a crowd fighting to get a premium spot under one of the few covered areas. Such as the one where she was.

She quickly fetched her raincoat from her backpack and carefully folded it around the piece of paper. She got back to her feet, brushed the dirt from her knees, and she rushed back to the toilets she had come from. She locked herself away in a stall after making sure no one was already using any other and let herself fall on the closed toilets with a sigh of defeat. She wished she had been fast enough to see him, meet him, because she was sure he was real. That young man from her dreams existed, somewhere out there, and while she couldn't explain how he appeared with so much accuracy in her dreams, or why she had felt an instantaneous connection the moment their eyes had met, it filled her with an effervescent happiness to know she wasn't alone.

She carefully unfolded her raincoat and observed the large piece of paper with avid eyes. She poked it with the tip of her finger, just one quick brush, lest the same burning sensation would inflame her arm again. But nothing happened. So, she trailed her fingers over the many circles that were drawn with meticulous precision, following the lines with a feathery touch not to smear the ink around. She supposed the circles had a meaning, might even be some kind of cryptic language, but she had not a single clue what they all could mean. The only thing she recognized was a detailed drawing of a planisphere - a wonderful achievement given the thickness of the lines and its ridiculously small size. That, and the single circle that was of a different colour, emerald green, and whose sharp lines seemed to have been drawn in a hurry. A smile tugged at the corner of lips when she realized this might very well have been some kind of paper about Earth, a test she liked to imagine the mysterious man had passed with brio.

She turned the parchment around and her breath hitched in her throat when her eyes fell on the few lines scribbled on the bottom of the page.

 _Helo._

 _Hou you are?_

 _Nice to met yuo._

 _Tanx you._

The letters were oddly shaped, some slanted, some too long, some too big, some swallowed by tiny blots of ink. Obviously, whoever had written this was not familiar with the concept of the Roman alphabet, even less so with the English language itself. Among the dozens of reasons she could have found to explain this poor - but nonetheless noble - attempt at writing her own language, there was one she particularly fancied. An unreasonable reason, but a reason she wanted to believe in.

A ray of light pierced a hole through the thick clouds and fell over the paper. Her jaw dropped, not because the sun had appeared like a divine intervention after weeks of rain and rough winds, but because that light was enough to draw a few light shadows on what she thought to be a smooth surface.

"This can't be…" she started under her breath, rummaging through the bottom of her backpack to find the pencil she knew was sleeping there.

She splayed the paper over the wall of the stall with her trembling hands and the lead of her pencil swiftly stroked the paper to make the shallow relief stand out and the words, the same three words, appear all over the page. Jagged letters, hesitant lines, awful spelling mistakes and words that randomly switched places. But the meaning was there. A whole page, filled from top to bottom with that one expression that made her stomach swoop in her belly and her heart gallop in her chest.

I love you.

He didn't know where this sudden obsession for that small, dull planet they called Earth was coming from. For weeks, all of his papers had been revolving around it. From the thermodynamics of the oceans and the atmosphere, to the botany of the forests and the social anthropology of the tiny inhabitants, he probably knew more about the humans and their world than anyone else - more than most of the aforementioned humans themselves, he believed. Everything about it was too easy to understand, and that should have been enough to bore him and his brain that always seeked to dive deeper into the most complex mysteries the universe had to offer. But the fascination and the thrill never faded, never went away.

He pushed the broken door to the tiny shack he had moved to when the hole to the cave had become to small for him to go through and settled behind the rudimentary desk he had set up. Dozens of different papers were spread before him, and a dozen more would soon join them. But that wasn't something he was keen on working on in that moment. Instead, he picked up a blank page of parchment, opened the small bottle of ink in which he dipped his precious quil - that had deteriorated a bit after more than two centuries of intensive scribbling.

He cracked the joints of his fingers, repositioned the candle further away to prevent any kind of impromptu fire in his wooden shack. And he finally drew the heavy volume he had borrowed from the library from the folds of his deep red robe. He opened it to the very first page, and his lips stretched into a smile as his eyes read the title of his brand new acquisition.

 _Introduction to Earthian Languages._


	3. Fairytale

"Van Gogh, you coming to the party tonight?"

He rolled his eyes at the use of the nickname he had inherited thanks to the light auburn colour of his hair and his passion for anything that was Earth-related, famous painters included. Not that he minded much, as he rather liked the name and it actually was an improvement from the usual _hamster cheeks_ and _carrot heads_ he had gotten used to. He turned on his feet to face the committee of classmates that was standing against the wall of the classroom, waiting for the same lesson he wanted to attend. He hated geography and he most definitely hated the professor - who, by an ironic twist of fate, appeared to have taken a liking to him. He would have been glad to skip the lesson and study more in depth the strange animal humans called a unicorn, as he had decided that this particular animal would remain his favourite until he could find anything better than a steed with a magical horn stuck on its forehead. But skipping the lesson also meant he wouldn't get the result for the paper he had spent a whole week working on, a full day of which he had consecrated to the drawing of a planisphere, cursing profusely against the stupidity of human for representing a sphere on a plane surface all the while.

A throat cleared and he finally understood the question. He had no idea why they would invite him to such a thing as a party. After so long, they should know he always declined any kind of invitation that had nothing to do with academic conferences and seminars. Sometimes, people would mistake him as the weird excluded boy who couldn't get any friends because of his odd behaviour. They didn't understand that he was the one excluding others. Oh, very few liked him, and should he want to make any friends, he would probably need a single hand to count them. But he could have gotten a few. He simply didn't want to. He didn't have the time nor the desire to follow them in their useless errands they could waste precious hours on. When they went out for drinks, he stayed in his shack to work some more on his papers. When they ambled the streets in search of gifts for their soulmates, he stayed in bed to study his own soulmark under the light of the candle, trying to find clues about the whereabouts of his own. When they played stupid ball games in the Temporal Gardens, he played the dangerous game of sneaking into the Eternal Library to steal books he couldn't afford to buy.

He believed he had been forced to grow too fast ever since his parents' death, and while he was still an immature two hundred year-old boy at heart, his clever little brain was already fuller than most of his professors'. Advantage, or disadvantage, he couldn't make the difference. But he knew the difference between what was good for his future, and what was not. And he hoped that would be enough to guide his steps to the soulmate he was desperate to meet.

"I'm not going," he shrugged, his fingers unconsciously finding the locket he kept securely fastened around his neck - locket in which he had concealed the very first moment he had connected with his soulmate. "There's this thing I… Need to work on."

"Oh, come on Vincent, we're celebrating! Two hundred years spent in this prison, halfway through graduation, you can't miss it!"

"I… Alright," he sighed in defeat, though he managed to offer a small smile. "I suppose I can make a quick appearance."

"Main Hall after dinner. And _please_ don't bring any homework."

The last word was swallowed by the ringing bell and he hurried towards his preferred seat before anyone could steal it from him - namely, the seat that was far enough from the professor's desk, close enough to the door should he decide the lesson wasn't worth spending a minute more in the stifling oven the classroom was on a sunny day such as this one. He waited patiently until the usul cacophony of students sitting down and taking out their material with merry chatters about the oncoming party died down, and he shifted a tad less patiently for the professor to start handing out the results of their latest test. That professor had the odd habit to deliver the results from the worst to the best, and he always dreaded to be the first to receive his result - though it had never happened, at least not until now. He drummed his fingers anxiously on the edge of the desk, watching as the old man cloaked in green picked up the pile of parchments from his desk and started to walk up the stairs towards the back of the room. Much too close to his desk to his liking. A lump grew in his throat, so heavy he couldn't swallow it down, and his hearts free-fell in his chest when the very first paper was carefully laid down in front of him. He didn't hear the soft and surprised murmurs that rose in the classroom, the staccato heartbeat pulsing in his ears much too loud and shrilling. A wave of heat inflamed his cheeks and he could have sworn the volume of his carotide tripled when the professor splayed his long fingers over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, boy," the elder apologized with a light pat. "That's the third time in a row you've written about that small planet. And before you ask, no, focusing on the climatic specificities of Eurape doesn't make it less irrelevant to the subject. Why not try something about… Gullipso? It's close enough to Earth, and it'd be a nice change."

" _Europe_ ," he seethed between his teeth, fighting the urge he suddenly felt to swap his hand off and run out the room.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The continent is called _Europe_ ," he kept going, unaware that tears had started to rain down his cheeks. "Greek mythology, Queen Europa, means _wide-gazing_. Something you definitely should try, _wide-gazing_. Broaden your perspective and your knowledge a bit, hm? Just because a planet is small doesn't mean it's not important or relevant."

He took a deep breath and slammed his book closed over the parchment he planned on burning as soon as he got back to his shack. He shoved the book back in his shoulder bag and slipped the strap around his neck before standing from his chair. He looked up to the ancient teacher, his fists clenching and unclenching on his sides as he pondered for a moment if he ought to readjust the half-moon shaped glasses perched in the tip of his nose with a punch, but he decided against it. Better to hit where it really hurt.

"And, for the record, the planet Gullipso changed its name into Luntana precisely eight hundred and seventy-three years ago, and that name was still in use fairly recently. Until the whole planet was sucked into the black hole of Hueb, that is," he managed to smile despite the heavy tears sill hanging to his eyelashes. "See you later, _sir_. Or better yet, never see you again. I quit."

He shoved the professor away with a heavy nudge of his shoulder and fled the room under the electric whispers of his classmates, some unable to believe he had gotten the worst grade when he never failed to be the first at everything he did, some awed by the fact that he had dared talk in such a way to one of the most eminent teachers of the whole Academy.

He closed the heavy door behind and let his back fall against it with a weary sigh. He didn't know if he should be proud for having stood up for his convictions and his passion, or if he should feel guilty for giving way to his anger and disappointment. It was the first time in two centuries of intensive study and meticulous work that he got a grade that wasn't perfect, and the first time he got to appreciate the bitter taste of failure. The wisdom he had acquired over the years whispered in his mind that it didn't matter, because he knew his paper deserved the perfect grade no matter what the rubbish professor might say about it. But the childish pride in his hearts made his stomach churn at the thought that his final grade would be tarnished because of that humiliating single mark.

He shook his head with a dejected grimace and pushed his body away from the door. No need to linger around when he had just gained two hours he could use to study. A quick look at the miniature Gallifreyan hourglass tied to a chain around his wrist informed him that the biggest sun would soon reach its zenith - an important piece of information when it came to choosing the best aisle of the library. He started to walk down the short flight of stairs that led to the Temporal Gardens he had to cross to reach his favorite place in the Academy. Somehow, the hot breeze that made the bright orange leaves twinkle in the trees managed to soothe his resentment, and the third sun slowly setting beyond the horizon, outside the glass dome that protected the capital of Gallifrey, had him realize that a part of darkness didn't necessarily meant impenetrable obscurity. A zero wasn't a failure. It was a lesson. He understood that no matter how bright he thought he shone, he should never forget that light couldn't exist without its shadows.

That was a lesson he tried to learn throughout the day, even as he daydreamed in the Library, scribbling without much enthusiasm nor conscientiousness the few English expressions he had learned in his manual, at the bottom of the verso of the paper he ended up stuffing in his pocket when he realized all of it was useless.

He looked up through the window, to the single star that shone during the day above the tower bell of the Cathedral. He knew the planet Earth was close to that star - which happened to already be dead to the eyes of humans, given the distance of hundreds of thousands light years that separated it from Gallifrey when Earth was just a few dozens light years away. He found himself wondering if his soulmate was like this star. Alive, in a distant galaxy he could have reached in an instant with a TARDIS. Already dead, maybe not born yet. That was the thing with outworlders. Gallifreyans were the only species he knew of who could travel time and space faster that the snap of a finger. The only species he knew possessed a virtually unlimited lifespan, when all the others found their death, eventually. He had been terrified to find out humans merely lived a hundred years. Nothing could be done in so little time. Life couldn't possibly offer everything it had to give in one short, fleeting century. He pitied them. Knowing they were born only to work and fight and get bored and pretend they could love. It wasn't living. Barely existing. But what terrified him the most was that it was possible his soulmate would be one of them. A tiny human he would have to watch whither and die.

The nacre pattern of his soulmark itched at that thought, and he stared at the one circle he had deciphered only three years after taking up those botany lessons he was so fond of. _Hulis_. It was a flower that grew in the desert continent on the other side of Gallifrey. White petals that faded to a pastel pink towards their center, soft and everlastingly covered by a dew they gathered from the atmosphere to protect themselves from the scorching suns. Long, sharp-edged leaves coated with a thin layer of the most venomous substance known to Gallifreyans, to fend off the insects and survive predators - which he had always considered weird for a plant that could spread faster than grass and grow more effectively than Gallifreyan babies loomed in the Orgue.

He couldn't figure out what linked that plant to his soulmate, and that wasn't for lack of trying. He could only guess the mysterious meaning would be unveiled the moment he would finally meet them. He shook his head as he dejectedly pulled on his sleeve to hide the mark that so often made his brain hurt with the torrent of questions it brought. Two more centuries to go, he'd finally turn four hundred years old, and all of these questions would find answers. Hopefully.

He had hesitated a long time, pacing anxiously around his shack for almost as long as it took the sand of his hourglass to trickle down into the lower bulb, but he ended up making his decision. The Main Hall was already buzzing with excited prattling, some about how they could now chuck half of their papers in a dark pit of oblivion, some about the trepidation they felt at the prospect of _finally_ starting their Tardis flying lessons. He stepped into the large Hall in search of the acquaintance who had invited him to the party - he had to admit, he wasn't feeling much comfortable snaking through the dozens of grapes of students, gathered around the gigantic golden Hourglass standing in the middle of the Hall, on his own.

"Hey, Van Gogh!" a reedy voice called out behind him before he could disappear into the sea of people. "Wait!"

"What is it, Kip?" he asked with measured sympathy, hoping they wouldn't engage in a night-long conversation about that stupid card game he could blabber about for days without breathing.

"The geography instructor, he asked me to tell you, you won't get a void for your paper if you can write him another one before next lesson."

"Nah, I give up on geography, anyway," he shrugged, scratching the side of his cheek with a finger. "I'm taking up nuclear physics instead."

"Oh, Vince! For the love of Rassilon, please get me a perfect on that geography paper!"

"Why, what does this have to do with you?"

"I, hu, kinda bet all my credits that you were going to be the first student ever to get the Kronos medal."

"Ah, of course you would… Sorry, Kip, no Kronos medal for me," he apologized with a sad smile.

"But… I… Look, I'll buy you that rare book you wanted. What was it, the _Naturalis Historia_ or some other human stuff again? Get that perfect and that book is yours, yeah?"

"Er… Listen, Kip," he started, a hesitant sigh flowing past his lips - after all, he had wanted that book for aeons, and it would be an insult to his intelligence to refuse such an offer. "I… I'll see what I can do. No promises, alright?"

"Next lesson is four moons and two sols away. Don't let me down, Van Gogh."

He could only nod as short and stubby fingers patted him on the shoulder, before the short boy disappeared in the crowd. He took a moment to look around and finally spotted the crown of long blond hair that belonged to Tinker. He grabbed a glass of juice on the way to him and the group of friends that sat in a circle near the pond, but the closer he got, the better he could hear their conversation - a mention of his name, a laugh, a groan. He approached slowly, careful to remain hidden behind the bushy plant that had the courtesy of throning at a reasonable distance so he could eavesdrop on them without being seen. His throat tied in a tight knot and he had to spit his first sip of Guandi nectar back into his glass.

"... But really, we should tell him," the blond boy shrugged as he stuffed biscuits into his mouth.

"Why, though?" the girl leaning back against the edge of the pond raised an eyebrow. "I mean, with a brain like his, surely he knows that Overseer fairytale is just that. A fairytale."

"Yeah, he's not the first to have a dead mark. Plenty of others before him never got a soulmate and they ended up fine."

"Sure, but I still think it's sad," another girl lamented, pensively running a finger along the edge of her glass. "That poor Vince is convinced he's got a soulmate out there, and he's living for that dream. I've never seen someone so committed to their studies for their soulmate."

"Do you think this has anything to do with all that Earth stuff he keeps talking about? Does he believe his soulmate is a human?"

"Don't know," the blond boy shook his head, pinching a crumb of biscuit off his robe, " but what we all know is that you can't get a soulmate from outside Gallifrey. There's a reason our marks are all written in Gallifreyan and have a Time signature. He might fall in love with a human, there's no denying that and I'll even be happy for him, but they'll never be his soulmate. He doesn't have one. Period."

Slowly, he spilled the content of his glass in the pot of the plant, dropped it among the white pebbles that covered the humid earth, and he started to step back. He turned on his feet, quite unable to see where he was going, unable to think about where his feet were taking him. He just knew he had to get away from them, get away from the thunder of those words he struggled to put a meaning on. He simply walked, down the stairs, up the main corridor, so much tears in his eyes he felt he was seeing the world through a lense covered in fresh dew. The only thing he could vaguely recognize was the huge engraving on an ancient wooden door that led to the one classroom everyone loved. It was always locked and only a few eminent professors possessed the key. But this night, it was slightly ajar, a tiny ray of yellow light filtering into the otherwise dark corridor. He looked back to the party, hearing the dulled chatters in the distance, looking at the soft glow that emanated from the reflection on the Hourglass. No one would come this way. And even if they did, he wasn't sure he would care much. Whatever happened, nothing could be worse that finding out he had built his whole life on a lie he'd been stupid enough to believe in.

He pushed the door open, closed it behind him with careful manoeuvres not to make the latch click into a locked position. The sound of conversation was replaced by a soft, comforting hum that came from the Tardis they used for the lessons. He should have been awed to finally see the ship, to finally get a proper look at the most magnificent piece of technology Gallifreyans had ever come up with. But in that moment, the flame of passion and the burning desire to always discover more were dead. Just like his hopes and dreams. It was just a ship. And no matter how far it could go, no matter when, it wouldn't take him anywhere near the place he wanted to be. Because where he wanted to be didn't exist.

A sad chuckle escaped his lips when he tried to read the few lines of painted letters covering the front of the blue box. He got closer to door and brushed his fingertips against the English words he hadn't learnt yet.

"You think that's funny?" his trembling voice asked, a somber smile ghosting over his lips. "That's the idea of a joke for a Tardis, then?"

He jumped back with a gasp when the ship answered, its door opening with a creaking sound that almost echoed into a laugh in his ears. He took a peek inside the ship, and he saw the time rotor in the middle of the console room pulse with a pale blue glow, as if it were inviting him inside. He knew the ship was a sentient being capable of thought and feelings, but it was only when he felt the tendrils of its consciousness envelop his that he fully understood the implications of such powers. If he focused enough, he could almost understand the words it was whispering to him, come inside, follow me, come closer. He knew he shouldn't do as it said, that he wasn't even supposed to be there, that if he was found out he would get into more trouble than his perfect grades could excuse. He could risk being forbidden to fly a Tardis for the rest of his days and losing the only thing that could help him reach his soulmate. And then, he remembered that he had no soulmate to go to.

So, he stepped on the metal grating of the ship, the thin soles of his sandals squeaking at each tiny step he took towards the center of the room. His eyes went to the hundreds of buttons and levers on the console, to the long coral struts running up towards a round golden ceiling and the dozen of corridors running from the sides, forking into many other corridors melting into an endless maze. He had almost reached the other side of the main room when the door slammed shut behind him and the time rotor was spurred into motion. His horrified shriek was drowned by the regular wheezing and groaning of the ship as he threw himself towards the door, his crooked knees wailing in protest at the sudden effort.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, his hands pulling on the handle so hard a screw popped off. "Don't do that, stupid ship, I can't even fly you back!"

But the ship only sent a jolt of electricity through the door and hummed gleefully when he fell down on his bottom with a loud curse, his tingling hands unable to find any purchase on the smooth surface of the barrier. Out, the ship murmured in the back of his head just a moment later, making the thin hair at the back of his neck rise. It was only then that he realized the noise had died down and the grating had stopped vibrating under him. He didn't know where they had landed, but none of this bode well. He tried to swallow the hard lump that had settled low in his throat as he scrambled back to his feet, staring with scared, wide and, at the same time, expectant eyes at the small frame of light the door that had whined open let appear.

With slow, careful steps, he got closer to the light. The bubbles of excitement that rose in his stomach were enough to smother the pangs of worry and the twists of guilt, and his mouth split his face into a smile before he could stop it. He was on another planet.

He tentatively reached out with a hand, not brave enough to leave the reassuring inside of the ship, but drew it back with a gasp when something humid and cold pricked his skin. He observed the pearls of water clinging to the hairs on his forearm, and darted his tongue to give one of them an experimental lick. Water. Full of dirt and dust and bacterias, but water nonetheless.

"Rain," he murmured under his breath, looking up at the grey sky and the menacing clouds floating low above what he recognized as being concrete buildings. "Earth."

His hearts hammering against his ribcage, so fast the pause between each beat could barely be felt, he stepped outside the safety of the ship - one foot first, just to see if that dark surface was solid enough to withstand his weight. His eyes roamed avidly around the space surrounded by the kind of buildings he'd only ever seen in books, taking in the weird painted lines that drew paths on the floor, the trees that were probably about to die given their bright green colours, and all those streams of water that flowed along tiny riverbeds. He was fascinated by the leaves embarking on journeys along those rivers and spent an entire minute following one with eyes wide open in innocent amazement, until it was swallowed by some kind of gaping hole in a wall. And the rain. He has studied everything about it and knew to the most irrelevant details how it all worked, but seeing it for real was something else altogether. The steady rhythm of all those drops splashing on the ground, the tight curtain of impenetrable water they created, the violence with which they lashed at the windows, the beautiful patterns they created in the air as they submitted to the force of the wind. It couldn't compare to any picture he had stared into for hours on end.

His eyes fell on the line of windows that stretched over the building on the far left, and he saw the multitude of heads peeking out from inside what he supposed to be classrooms - the only thing he could remember from his readings about education on Earth, because it was one of the rare things Gallifreyans shared with that planet. So they must all have been humans. Tiny, fragile humans who were already wasting time learning about things they most likely wouldn't need. Oh, how he would have loved to meet all of them, talk to them, learn from them. His eyes trailed to the left, to a smaller window, and he leaned against the corner of the building where he was standing. He stopped breathing, his respiratory bypass kicking in so he wouldn't faint from the lack of oxygen, and he ferociously ignored the itching sensation that burnt from his wrist to the middle of his forearm. That lone head, behind that little window. Blond hair, the most beautiful face that had ever graced his soul, deep amber eyes he could have stared into for moons and sols without never being able to detach himself from their depth, lips that taught him for the very first time what the desire to kiss felt like. Heavy tears pearled at the corner of his eyes and his eyebrows knitted in the middle under the repressed urge he had to sob and shout and sing. There was no mistaking the heat that spread through his limbs, the way his hearts leapt against his ribcage as if they wanted to break through and reach out to her, the sudden rush of new emotions that flooded his empty soul. It was her. It was _her_.

And suddenly, their eyes met. The smile that had cracked his dry lips vanished and he rolled his back against the building to get out of sight. His mark was positively searing by the time he managed to shoulder the door to the Tardis open, and he well knew why. It wasn't the right time. He wasn't supposed to be there just yet. It was much too soon.

He dashed to the console, unaware that the piece of paper he had tucked inside his robe was fluttering lightly along a weak breath of wind in the alley where he had landed. In his outright panic, he smashed buttons and pulled levers and flicked more buttons and punched random numbers on that weird calculator.

"Please, take me back," he begged under his breath, sucking off the robe that was becoming increasingly unbearable. "Please, please, please, take me back, she can't see me, not now."

The Tardis answered his prayer, and the time rotor whirred to life as it dematerialized from the playground, mere seconds before Rose Tyler would stumble into the alley and find the only test he had ever failed in his life.


	4. Unhappy Party

She flicked the light of her tiny bathroom off and went to the full-length mirror glued to the door. She took in her reflection. The blond locks that fell on her bare shoulders in elegant curls, the heavy black makeup around her eyes, the dark red lipstick that underlined her full lips - she had understood that it was no use trying to cover up those lips she didn't like, and decided she might as well make them pretty for those who did. A silver pendant hung low on her sternum, pointing to the reasonable cleavage her strapless black dress revealed. The dress was rather short, and she wasn't used to wear such clothes, so she didn't really know what to think of her muscular thighs and calves that were well-defined thanks to the sharp heels she had stepped into.

She knew she wasn't like most girls her age. She didn't like fancy dresses, she didn't particularly feel the need to be sexy in the eyes of boys, she had never felt the desire to seduce anyone, much less date anyone. She often shrugged it off when her classmates taunted her about the arid desert her love life was, some even joking about the fact that she was a lesbian in the closet. She never denied any of those allegations, party because she didn't care and because it gave her a way out for justifying not having a boyfriend, mostly because she didn't want to explain the real reason why she wasn't interested in any of the young men that dared court her.

She picked off a blond hair that was sticking to the red woollen shawl she had tucked in the crook of her elbows, just to add a touch of smart to the rest of the rather banal dress. She didn't feel much comfortable, but she knew the small party she was bound to attend wouldn't last long - at least not for her. She was already thinking about the moment she'd be home, take off the painful heels and the tight dress to slip into her ripped shorts and the faded tee-shirt that had once belonged to her father. She regretted the promise she had made Mickey to attend that party with him, but she wouldn't let him down. He was one of the rare friends who never made any comment on the fact that she was single - and had always been, as a matter of fact - and she enjoyed his company more than anyone else's. He listened to her rambling about everything she loved, he always respected he decisions not to tell him about all those things she wanted to keep for herself. He had always been a comforting presence and lent a friendly ear when she wanted to share some of her secrets. He was the best friend she was grateful for and she wasn't afraid to say she loved him.

A quick look at the robot-shaped clock, one of the rare things she had brough back from her childhood room in her mom's flat, told her she was much too early. From the noise in the corridor, she knew most of the students she shared the residence with were already on their way to the party, but Mickey had been understanding enough to agree to pick her up a bit later. That way, they wouldn't have to mingle with the excited crowd and they could remain unnoticed when they'd join the general hubbub in the sports hall.

She sat at her desk and crossed her hands over the _Encyclopedia of the Stars_ she had been offered for her sixteenth birthday, a heavy volume she had sifted through so often the corners were rumpled, the cover vamped with tape, some paged torn or specked with coffee stains. It was a poor replacement for her telescope which was sleeping in Mickey's basement - because the tiny window in her student room gave on the facade of another building, and she wasn't much into spying on her neighbours, so it was probably better there than cluttering up too much space in her hutch. Her eyes fell on the frame standing on the corner of her desk and, much like every time she looked at that piece of paper, he heart stuttered in her chest. The ink had faded a little after the years, and the yellowish colour of the parchment had turned light brown, but she could still make out the circles and the drawing. She had stared at it for so long, on lonely nights when sleep would decide she was unworthy of its benediction, on boring homework sessions when physics would prove to be too much of a pain to study, that she probably could have reproduced most of the circles to the tiniest dot. When the few visitors she had asked about it, she answered it was a piece of weird art she had bought on Camden Street because it reminded her of space. Half of it was true, so it was a lie that she couldn't really blame herself for selling.

Sometimes, she would take it out of its glass sheet to look at the lines scribbled at the bottom of the page, to run her fingers on the words highlighted by the thin layer of graphite. They helped her remember his face, and they helped her remember why she wasn't interested in anyone. She couldn't find an explanation to that mystery, but she accepted it. She had accepted that she was in love with the pair of deep emerald eyes, the red curls, the stub nose and the ridiculous smile. It had been hard, at first, to know her heart and her mind would only fly towards that rather common, almost ugly boy, especially since she had never even met him, since she didn't even know where he was coming from, what his name was, who he was. She had tried to ignore it, but denial wasn't easy when his face kept popping up in random places and in most of her dreams. But after a while, after she realized the harder she tried to forget about him, the more accurately he appeared in her thoughts, she had simply decided to live with it. If he was important, if he was the man she was supposed to love and who would love her back by some twisted destiny, he would show up, eventually. She had decided to wait.

A sharp knock echoed in her small room, and she took a deep breath as well as the tiny black sequined bag she had bought for the occasion.

"Hi, Rose," Mickey greeted her with a smile, a whistle falling from his lips as he took in her appearance. "Damn, you look… Wow."

"Oi, shut it," she chastised with a slap on his forearm. "You know I don't like it."

"Sorry, _princess_. So, ready to go?"

"Not really," she shrugged, though she still closed her door behind her and took the arm he graciously offered. "I'm going only because you're going to get that reward and I don't want to miss it."

"I might not be the only one to get a reward," he winked conspicuously.

"What does that mean? Please, tell me I won't have to make a fool of myself in front of everyone in that stupid dress."

"You won't make a fool of yourself, and you'll stun everyone with that dress, trust me."

She could only roll her eyes and shrug it off as one of the cheap jokes he was so fond of. The gymnasium was already crowded when they arrived, hundreds of graduates dancing to an off-beat rock song, cups filled with either juice of beer in their hands, some sitting on benches and shouting over the music blaring through the speakers. She recognized a few faces, students she had spent most of her days with for the past two years, but the rest was an otherwise seamless sea of anonymous people - which was a bit of a relief, given that she wanted to remain unnoticed. She stood in a less frequented corner until Mickey came back with two cups and a smile that flashed green when he was swallowed by the ray of a spotlight.

"We should get closer to the stage," he grinned, offering her one of the cups. "They're about to start."

"Mickey, I'm not…" she tried to refuse with a vehement shake of her head.

"Please, Rose, I asked Will to call the both of us at the same time so you don't have to go alone."

"You knew about this, and you didn't tell me?" she huffed, clearly annoyed that he hadn't judged necessary to ask for her opinion.

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd like it," he apologized, scratching the back of his head. "Please Rose, come with me, it won't take more than a minute, I promise."

" _Fine_ ," she drawled. "But I'm not speaking."

His smile got impossibly brighter and she could only smile in return at his giddy dance steps he made in victory. She sipped at her orange juice she was quite sure had been mixed with a tiny dose of alcohol, but she spat it back when her stomach churned and her heart missed a beat. One of her classmates jumped onto the stage and the music faded to be replaced by an screeching feedback that had everyone groan in annoyance.

"Sorry, guys," he spoke into his mike, waving in apology at the audience. "I hope everyone's having a good time so far!"

The crowd exploded in cheers and wild clapping at those words, and against her best will her heart started to beat faster. She wiped her clammy hands on her dress and gratefully accepted when Mickey rolled an arm around her waist. She abhorred public appearances and she detested having to go up there, but her best friend on her side made the prospect a bit more bearable. She just hoped she wouldn't have to go first. She'd rather go when everyone would be bored by what was happening on the stage and stop paying attention to any of it.

"We're going to start with all the little Einsteins of the science department," he continued, taking out a small piece of paper from his pocket and putting it down on a lectern. "We truly have been blessed with geniuses this year, and I would like to open this ceremony with Mickey Smith and Rose Tyler!"

"Hell yes!" Mickey grinned excitedly, pulling on her hand to lead her to the flight of stairs next to the stage. "Come on, Rose."

Her heart free-fell in her chest and a lump grew in her throat as she made her way up the steps, half-stumbling because of her heels, her ears deaf to the loud round of applause and roars of ovation. She was instantly drowned in dazzling white light, and she was glad to find out it made it hard to clearly see anyone. She shuffled to get closer to Mickey, her wild eyes going from one side of the gymnasium to the other, her fingers fiddling with the sequins on her small bag. She suddenly caught a sight of one head in the crowd, just as the spotlight travelled from the front to the back. It lasted just long enough for her mouth to part in a silent shout, for her hand to twitch on her side as if she wanted to reach to him, for her eyes to water at the unexpected way her heart leapt in her chest and filled her with hope. Not long enough to pinpoint the exact place she had spotted the mass of red curls lost in the crowd. She searched, and searched, but he was gone.

She had to swallow her disappointment when she realized there was no way she'd be able to find him later - if he had been there at all, she couldn't really tell the difference between her wishful fantasies and reality any longer. It wasn't the first time she believed she'd seen him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She could only hope the next time this would happen, he would be there. Really there.

She pretended to wipe a smudge of mascara with the hem of her shawl to cover her tears, just as her classmate finished his short introduction and finally started his little show.

"So, Mickey Smith," Will stated with a smug smile, a hand on his hip. "Do you know what prize you're going to get?"

"Huhu, not a clue," he shrugged, stealing a quick glance at his friend to make sure she was alright.

"Then let me enlighten you. For creating the deadliest stink bomb that was ever made in our college, for setting half the physics lab on fire after a failed experiment, and for all those explosions you blessed us with in chemistry lessons all while getting straight As for your A-levels… We decided the best choice for you would be a gift to help you continue on the way to awesomeness!"

She had to laugh along her best friend when another classmate appeared with what seemed to be a chemistry kit obviously designed for kids. Mickey lifted it high above his head and shook it like he would have done with a football cup, and the crowd laughed with them in a wave of glee.

"Thank you," Mickey chuckled in the mike that was offered to him. "May the hole in the ceiling of A-22 never be repaired."

"I have an agreement with the headmaster, don't worry about that, Mick," Will reassured him with a friendly slap on the back. "Now… Rose Tyler."

Her smile disappeared from her face faster than Will could say her name, and she clasped her hands in front of her, anxiously waiting for what would come next.

"Rose Tyler," he repeated, reaching out to take one of her hand in his and bring her closer to the lectern. "Living proof that science geeks can be just as beautiful as we, normal people, isn't that right guys?"

Her cheeks flushed when the audience agreed with a tornado of applause and whistles and cheers, and she offered a small smile in return despite the sudden urge she had to run away.

"For always helping your classmates when they needed it," Will said a tad more seriously than he had for Mickey, "for proving to all of us that dedication and hardwork are the only key to success, for showing us that a dream can become reality if you wish it hard enough… And, of course, for getting all those straight As in your A-levels, we thought…"

She nibbled her lower lip nervously when the young man she believed was called Roy stepped next to her with a tiny purple velvet cushion. Will delicately picked up the first piece of jewelry that was nestled in the cushion and slipped behind her to lock a necklace around her neck. He did the same with a bracelet he attached to her wrist, and she shivered when his long fingers brushed on the inside of her bare forearm.

"Miniature solar systems," Will explained with a smile, lifting her arm so those closer to the stage could take a look at the shiny planets around her wrist. "True to scale, of course. We wish you all the best for what's bound to be a prodigious careers in astrophysics, Rose, and whatever happens, we want you to know that you are a good friend to all of us. Thanks for your kindness and your unwavering support. We'll miss you."

"I.. Um, thanks," she managed to croak out past the tight knot her throat had tied into. "If I ever get lost in space, I'll have this to find my way back to you guys."

"Ha, send us a postcard before you come back, though," Will chuckled as he finally let go of her hand. "Ladies and gents, Rose and Mickey!"

She let herself be led by Mickey's hand off of the stage, waving absentmindedly at the audience which had burst into a renewed round of applause, too shook and dumbfounded to fully realize what had happened. A few people patted her shoulder as they made their way back to an unoccupied bench in a corner of the gymnasium, and she barely heard the _You go, Tyler_ and the _Well done, Rose_ she was greeted with along with lifted thumbs and broad smiles. Mickey plopped down on the bench with an amused sigh and drummed the empty space next to him with his fingers to invite her to sit.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, shoving the chemistry kit under the bench.

"I… Suppose not," she shrugged as she tugged lightly on the newly acquired piece of jewelry hanging from her wrist. "I… Wasn't expecting such nice words."

"You deserved them, Rose," he said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You're brilliant, you're the only one who can't see that."

"I…" she started before she had to clear her throat. "Yeah. It actually… Felt good, you know."

"I knew it would, I wouldn't have dragged you up there otherwise," he smiled, planting a kiss on her temple. "People like you, Rose. You're nice, and beautiful, and smart. It was about time you realized that, yeah?"

"Thanks, Mick. I'm… glad you're my best friend. I hope you know that."

"Yeah, I know," he replied with a soft brush of his knuckles against her cheek. "I'm glad you're my best friend too. So, another drink? Martha will be there in twenty minutes, we could share one last before you can head home, if you still want to leave early."

"Oh yes, I feel like I could drink the whole bar after all this."

"Got you, princess. Be back in a tick."

She watched as he was devoured by the sea of people and her attention was drawn back to the stage, where Will was now offering books to a girl who appeared to be the best student in literature and drama. Followed a string of other students, from languages to sociology and philosophy, each receiving a small gift for their achievements. She half-heartedly joined the several rounds of applause that followed, anxiously waiting for Mickey to come back. She wanted to find a higher place to seat so she could survey the crowd and hopefully see _him_ again, even if she was convinced it had just been a trick of the light, or even some other redhead that had had the misfortune to stand there at the wrong place, in the wrong moment. She just wanted to make sure.

She jumped when someone fell down next to her with a heavy sigh, and she offered a small greeting when she saw it was Will - who she only then noticed had left the stage to yield it to the college rock band. A small sheen of sweat covered his forehead and he avidly gulped down a whole cup of juice in one go before dropping it on the side with a satisfied rub over his stomach.

"Well I'm glad that's over," he announced, tugging on his tie knot to loosen it. "I love you guys, but this was a pain."

"Comes with being the best prefect of the college, I suppose."

"Quite right," he chuckled as he ran a hand through his hair. "So, how are you doing, Rose? Do you like your gift?"

"It's beautiful," she nodded with a smile, running the pad of her thumb over the bead planets. "I love it."

"Oh, good. I wasn't sure, I just saw that in the shop and I thought it'd suit you."

"You chose it?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yep. The only thing I personally chose, I'll have you know. I wanted yours to be special."

A shiver rolled down her spine like warm water at those words, and she had to remind herself to breathe when he shifted closer to her. She wasn't sure what his intentions were, until he gently weaved his fingers between hers while his other hand found its way to her knee - a fleeting touch that left her a way out if she didn't want any it, and she greatly appreciated it. She looked at his face, at his piercing blue eyes and thin lips. He was rather handsome, if she was being honest with herself. Nothing like the images from that boy in her dreams. She had never paid much attention to him in class before, too occupied to take notes, too serious to daydream about all those love stories that impassioned everyone else.

She knew he was funny, he was always the ones to make silly jokes and do stupid things to amuse his classmates - she had laughed once or twice at his bad puns. She knew everyone liked him, most girls wanted to date him, boys were jealous of him. He was like that perfect, hot student, the rockstar of the college idealised in those American flicks she sometimes watched with her friends. Expect Will was nice not to be liked by people, but because he truly liked people. He was also caring, it seemed. A bit bold, obviously, but the good kind. And he had the advantage of being there, physically there, his hot palm resting on her naked knee and his eyes looking at her, really looking at her, unlike that prince she wanted to snort at herself for believing in.

"I wasn't lying when I said we… I'm going to miss you, Rose," he admitted, just loud enough over the overall cacophony. "I think it's quite a shame that we didn't get to spend that much time together."

"A shame, yes," she softly answered, staring at their joined hands on her lap.

A battle of emotions roared in her chest at the sight. Something akin to betrayal made her insides twist - why, she had no idea, it wasn't like she was cheating on anyone. But she also felt pleasant flutters in the pit of her stomach and warmth run through her limbs. The rockstar of the college had noticed her. Better, he was interested in her. She feared she was giving in the temptation just to shut everyone up about her disastrous love life. But then, he brought his other hand to tenderly cup her jaw and the fear gave way to excitement.

"Rose, would it be wrong for me to kiss you?" he asked at the exact moment when she decided that was what she very much wanted him to do.

She was perfectly aware that this would probably lead nowhere, but she liked him. It wouldn't mean commitment or engagement, it wouldn't mean much more than a consequenceless fling. Just a kiss. To know what it felt like to share some intimate affection with another person. To experience what everyone had been taunting her about for three years. She tucked the image of the strange boy in a corner of her head and slipped her hand behind his neck, enjoying the feel of his short hair under her skin and his hot breath as he got closer. She definitely liked it, judging by the way her body willingly bent towards his. She held her breath and her heat missed a beat when his nose brushed against hers. That was it. Her first kiss.

Just as their lips were about to meet, a searing sensation ran through her forearm, she gasped, and he drew back with a yelp, his long fingers tightly closing around her arm to shove it away.

"What the fuck, Rose?" he cursed, jerking away from her with a grimace of pain.

She watched, eyes wide in horror, as the skin of his neck turned an angry hue of red and blistered within seconds. She rushed to him, tried to find something around her to relieve him of his pain, desperately tried to ask for help around her. Tears were rolling his cheeks as he pressed his palm against the burn that started to spread to his jaw, down to the neckline of his shirt, and she never felt more powerless than in that moment.

"Will, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know…" she attempted to apologize, though he was quick to push her away with a broad and powerful sweep of his arm.

"Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!" he barked, his face distorted into a heavy frown of resentment. "Fuck, you could have just told me you didn't want me to kiss you."

Her eyes quickly filled with tears of their own and she tentatively reached out to me again despite his glare and his the obvious infuriation painted over his features.

"I'm sorry," she cried, running feverish fingers through her blond locks. "I don't know what happened, I promise. I'm sorry."

"Rose, what's happening?"

She turned back on her feet to face Mickey, who was back with the two cups of juice he had promised, but that he was quick to put down on the bench. She wanted to explain the little she understood from the situation and spare Will the confrontation with her best friend she felt coming. She wasn't fast enough.

"Hey, what the Hell have you done to Rose?" Mickey growled, seizing him by the collar of his shirt with the firm intention to get back at him for any harm he might have done his best friend.

"What's she done to me, more like," he seethed, pointing at the impressive burn that was so deep his flesh was starting to swell and get blotchy.

"Rose?"

"I don't know what happened, I swear," she lamented again as she pried Mickey's fingers off of Will. "He didn't do anything, we were about to kiss and… I don't know, okay?"

"Yeah, right," Will spat, wobbling away from them. "Just be careful, mate, she might melt your bollocks off."

Mickey rubbed his face with a tired sigh and his face drew into a frown of dejection at the sight of a sobbing Rose. He gently wrapped his arm around her waist when she tethered on her feet and drew her close to his chest in a comforting hug.

"Let's get you home, yeah?" he mumbled against the top of her head.

"What about Martha?" she sniffed, suddenly chilled to the bones and exhausted.

"She's not coming," he lied, thinking it better not to make her feel bad for stealing him away from his girlfriend. "Come on, let's get going, princess."

Once they got back to the warmth of her small bedroom in the deserted residence, they both plopped down on the bed in silence, except for her contained sniffs and quiet sobs. Mickey took her arm and she couldn't suppress a soft cry of pain.

"What is this, Rose?" he asked as he brushed her skin with the pad of his thumb.

"He… Just grabbed me," she shrugged, looking at the hematomas colouring her skin in a spectrum of dark colours. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"I don't mean the bruise, I mean that," he insisted with a light pressure on her wrist.

She lowered her eyes to her sensitive limb and, at first, she couldn't see anything but the angry rainbow painted in the definite shape of fingers. But then, among the blots of green and purple, she noticed a thin, pale white line than drew patterns from the base of her hand and half-way up her forearm. Her eyes widened at the circles he could have recognized between a thousand others. They were a bit different that those spread over the parchment, but it definitely was the same style. A large circle crossed by lines and ornamented by dots, surrounded by a dozen of much smaller ones. Her thoughts were drawn back to the unknown redhead and a shriek fled her tight throat when the thin line glowed ever so slightly. A dull, pulsing white light that looked anything but normal. It terrified her. She started to rub the skin with her palm, hard and fast, trying to erase that line she was growing more and more scared off. The harder she rubbed, the brighter it glowed. As if it had a conscience of its own and was furious she would dare wipe it off.

"Mickey, help me," she pleaded, using her nails to scratch at the already hurt skin, almost lacerating it. "I don't know what the fuck this is, please help me remove it."

"Stop, Rose, just stop," Mickey said as he swatted her hand away from her wrist. "Damn, why would you do that to yourself?"

"Because you think it's normal to have something that just shines under your skin like… Like, I don't bloody know, but look at that, Mickey, it's bloody blinding me. Please, just… Help me…"

"Rose, nothing is shining," he grimaced - though more out of sadness for his friend's obvious distress than anything else. "Just listen to me princess, it is not shining. Stop hurting yourself, please."

He did his best to lock her hands down on the mattress and she stared at reddened arm, her nails having gone so deep was starting to gather under her skin in the shape of irregular paths. The glowing had stopped. And the tears started to stream down her cheeks, heavy, and just as painful as the sore flesh of her arm.

"What's happening to me, Mickey?" she whispered through a sob tinged with worry and fear. "Please tell me what's happening to me."

"I don't know, Rose. Why don't _you_ tell me?"

"I don't…"

"No, that's bullshit, Rose, I can see it. You've been hiding something from me, and I'm sure this has something to do with it."

"I… You're going to think I'm completely bonkers, Mickey. This is just so… Weird."

"I don't care. I want to know what's going on with my best friend. Go on, tell me."

"Fine… But promise me you won't laugh at me."

"I promise."

"Okay…" she nodded, taking a deep breath before she started her little story from the beginning.


	5. To Hulis

"VAN GOGH!"

The shout echoed against the walls of the deep cavern, drops of gloo fell from the stalactite vibrating with the intensity of the voice, and he fell head first into the dusty ground covered in tiny rocks and that same, viscous substance that stuck to his skin.

He could vaguely hear the hurried cries of his classmates, the low rumble of the beast's claws hammering against the ground, the sound of all those guns firing at once, the blood rushing, pulsing in his ears. He could vaguely feel the thin sand under his palms, the warmth of the volcano's earth under his heaving chest, the trickle of green gloo that oozed from the cavern like poison and spat over his back. He couldn't see anything but the pitch black darkness of his eyelids. What he could definitely feel, however, was the excruciating pain radiating from the lacerated skin of his abdomen, the cool blood pooling from a wound he supposed was deep enough to have touched his spinal cord - or so the inability to move a single finger told him.

A pitiful whimper left his parted lips and he felt his body warm up, at the extremities first, then up his arms and legs, the heat nestling deep between the weak and irregular beating of his hearts. Regeneration. If his brain were receiving enough blood and if he weren't on the verge of passing out, he would have remembered everything he'd read about it in the Library. And even then, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it. The warmth turned to burning, searing heat throughout his whole body, he could feel all the cells, the molecules in his body change, split, die and live again. It felt like millions of fire ants crawling up his dying physical envelop - he'd learnt about the fire ants a few years back, in a manual about Earth insects, and through the thick fog of his haze and confusion he believed that was the best way to describe it. Needles that pierced his skin, tweezers that pulled at the fibers of his muscles, clamps that tightened around his bones and shattered them to tiny pieces.

He should have been praying that his first regeneration would go smoothly - unlike some who had been unable to go through the whole process and had found a gruesome death. He should have been begging that the wound wasn't too serious or his body too weak to survive this torture. He should have been hoping this would all be over soon. But, as his fingers curled against rocks and his feet dragged slowly in the sand as beams of regeneration energy burst from his extremities, only one thought crawled its way to the front of his mind. _Please, give me a body she will like. Please, give me a body she will like._

A scream tore its way out of his throat when his whole body was entirely swallowed by a yellowish light that shone brighter than Gallifrey's suns and burnt hotter than the ardent magma brewing in the pit of the volcano. He felt his muscles and his bones grow, pulled and stretched to accommodate the new height of his morphing body. He felt his tattered organs stitch batch together and all the connexions flare back to life when his spinal cord melded back into a fully functional one. It didn't help with the pain.

"Don't touch him!" he heard one of his friends warn in a loud cry, over his own, plaintive ones. "Let it happen, don't touch him!"

"The Drearian!" another screamed, more gunshots resonating against the cavern walls. "It's not dead yet! Aim for its head, for Rassilon's sake!"

And, all of the sudden, his arching back fell back to the ground with a dull thump that was imitated by the beast collapsing against a huge rock. He took in a ragged breath, as deep and long as his new set of lungs would allow him to, and tears filled his eyes when he realized he could still breathe. He was alive. His half-open eyes fell on the Drearian that had fallen limply to the ground, body covered in dozens gunshot wounds leaking blood. It was dead.

The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was his friend Tinker, proudly stepping a foot down on the beast's head with a smug smile.

He could hear the birds merrily chirping in the trees. His close eyelids were thin enough to let him know he was lying somewhere bright. Somewhere warm. A strong smell of flowers invaded his nostrils and tickled all the way down his throat. So different from the dust and the stifling heat he remembered inhaling and feeling moments before. Or was it longer than moments? The searing headache punching his skull and burning behind his eyes didn't help his sense of time pinpoint how much time had passed since the test. He tried to rub his nose but only then did he realize he was trapped. He couldn't move. His eyes shot open at the definite panic he felt bubbling in his stomach and he struggled to take a deep breath that turned into a rough string of coughs that brought tears to the corner of his eyes.

He took a few seconds to calm down and analyze the situation, like he usually did when faced with something he didn't understand - a rare occurrence that never failed to spark his anger and annoyance. He was in bed. A simple one, with a heavy duvet thrown over his body and an uncomfortable pillow tucked under his head. He threw a quick look around, with the odd feeling that his eyesight had grown weaker. A flower pot on a small bedside table, an ugly painting hanging on an otherwise naked wall, another bed, just like his, unoccupied. He recognized the infirmary of the Academy, but it required a long minute before everything clicked in place in his fuzzy brain. Oh yes, the last test. The Drearian. The claw that had bored through his abdomen. The regeneration.

He fumbled with the heavy cover and swung his feet to the side despite the remnants of pain pulling at his brand new muscles. His height made him second guess each of his steps, unused to walk with such long and wiry legs. He took notice of his knees and a soft breath of relief fled past his lips. These weren't crooked, and the joints rolled with such fluidity he believed he was walking on a fluffy cloud instead of an uneven path covered in potholes and clods of earth. But this wasn't important. All he could think about as he made his way to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room were the hair blond as ripe wheat, the round nose, the rosy cheeks, the full lips, and those deep whiskey eyes that had so often filled his dreams with comfort and passion for the past two centuries. And all he wanted was to see if his prayers had been heard. He wanted to have a nice face and a nice body. He _needed_ to be what his soulmate would expect from the love of her life.

"What…" he whispered as he finally reached the mirror.

His hearts started to beat just a tad faster in the chest that felt both too big and too tiny. Something must have gone horribly wrong with the regeneration. Maybe it wasn't fully completed yet. Or so he hoped. The first thing that struck him was how assymetrical this whole face was. One of his deep chocolate eyes was just a bit bulgier than the other, just enough for his eyelid to droop a little and the round-shaped pleat to stand higher up. One of his eyebrows seemed to be out of his control, shooting up his forehead, bending into a frown or undulating like a tiny snake even though it had no reason to. One of his ear was wonky, its edge irregular as if the cartilage had suffered the same fate as a wood plank shaved too closely by a shaking hand. His nose would have looked fine enough, if it hadn't decided to deviate its course to the right towards the middle. It probably wanted to escape the decidedly weird composition of the left part of his face, he supposed. His upper lip remained invisible, except when he smiled. His lower lip was pouty, too pouty, and gave him the appearance of a sad puppy, except when he smiled. However, in that moment, he couldn't find any reason to smile. Well, the old-fashioned sideburns running down his cheeks and the crazy strands of brown hair that ridiculously stuck out like a hedgehog's spikes might have been one, if the only thing at stake was the first prize of that preposterous competition the Academy students committee held every other year - competition he considered to be a giant buffoonery to make contemptuous fun of those unlucky enough not to be blessed with the gifts a regeneration could bring.

"Is that what you understood when I told you _something she'll like_?" he spat at his reflection, rubbing his nose in a desperate attempt to straighten its slanted curve. "Bloody idiot."

Not only was his face far from what his most reasonable expectations had imagined, but his character seemed to have degenerated into a choleric and bitter temper. Definitely not something to be proud of, and definitely not the kind of personality that would appeal to that one human he already was in love with. It only stirred his anger into an even more raging wave of heat that coursed through his thin body - a body that he decided he hated. Unable to face the sight of his new appearance, he sent his tight fist into a powerful punch against the mirror that shattered under the impact and cut the skin of his gnarled joints.

"She's never going to like me," he murmured, staring at the drops of blood steadily rolling down his hand and splashing onto the pale green linoleum. "All of this… For nothing… I'm sorry, soulmate. I wish I could be more for you. I'm sorry."

He wiped the blood of his hand on the white robe he had been clad into, and when he realized the cuts wouldn't close, he also realized there was no more regeneration energy left in his body. It was over.

He tugged forcefully on the collar of his robe, the garment much too tight and too small for his current body - because, of course, the measurements had been taken before the regeneration, and with his stay at the infirmary he hadn't had the chance to have them taken again. He felt ridiculous in the ceremonial robe, like all those kids playing in the Citadel's boroughs, wrapped into their mother's shawls to pretend they were Time Lords. But in his case, with the heavy Kronos medal hanging around his neck, along with Calpurnia pin neatly attached to his breast and the ornamented headpiece encasing his face, this was not pretending. He was a Time Lord. Or so the parchment he held fiercely in his clammy palm told him. He had been the best. Not only the best of his promotion, but the best. Perfect results over more than four hundred years of intense and difficult study. Or so the headmaster had praised him during the neverending ceremony gathering the populace of Gallifrey stupid enough to attend one of the most boring celebration the planet ever organized, as well as every single professor, researcher and other unimportant personnel of the Academy.

But now that he had left the clamours and applauses behind him and found himself waiting to be introduced into the headmaster's office, he realized the piece of paper that read his name and his newly acquired nickname didn't necessarily mean he was worthy of the title. The ceremony might just have been a facade to keep the appearances intact. Everyone, from his classmates to the caretaker, believed he had pulled out of the four century long cursus with the best marks, the best appreciations, the best rank that had ever been achieved on Gallifrey. Denying that fact in front of them might have stirred too much incomprehension and ruined the whole joyful and light-hearted atmosphere.

He knew perfectly well why he hadn't succeeded in arising to perfection, and he was convinced this was what the headmaster wanted to talk to him about. He took a deep breath when the large wooden door engraved with an hourglass topped with a crown opened, and he was invited into the large office by the vice-headmaster. It was the first time he was allowed in this office, and, despite his anxiety, he could only look in awe at the thousands of books neatly displayed behind glass cases - rare books there was a time he would have sold his most precious possessions just to get a look at one of their pages.

"Congratulations, my boy," the headmaster sitting behind the enormous desk offered with a paternalistic smile. " I never thought I'd see this day. How does it feel to be the first student to graduate with a perfect score in each and every subjects this Academy teaches?"

"Perfect score, eh?" he shrugged, giving his newly acquired pin a flick of his finger. "Really?"

"Ah, I see what you are thinking about. The regeneration, is that right?"

"Minus fifty points," he nodded. "Can't get a perfect with a minus fifty points."

"Son, what happened during that last test shouldn't have happened. You must know, we don't send students on a mission of we're not positive nothing serious can happen. You were all trained more than sufficiently enough to defeat a Drearian."

"Why give us one regeneration, then?"

"Because, every once in a while, there's someone like you. The accident happened because you wanted to protect one of your friends."

"Poor judgment, that was."

"No, it wasn't. We need more people like you. Selfless, who's not scared to take a blow for others, who acts on instinct rather that calculated schemes. You, my boy, are the perfect balance between raw intelligence and measured emotions. Thus the perfect score. We couldn't penalize you for something that was obviously not an error of judgment as you put it."

"Right," he dismissed with wave of the hand. "So, why am I here, then? A pat on the back and a shake of hands?"

"Because we need to talk about your future."

He didn't miss the sudden serious tone of the headmaster's deep voice, and he had to swallow down a sharp retort that was hanging on the tip of his tongue. That didn't bode well.

"What about my future?" he asked past the lump in his throat. "I know what I want to do with my life, we don't need to talk about my future."

That was only half a lie. He knew he wanted to get off this planet and fly through the rest of the universe, more specifically to Earth, once he'd get the Tardis he had worked so hard to earn. He knew he wanted to stay on his own, away from any kind of company, and get rid of all the shackles the Academy had locked around his ankles. The only thing he wasn't so sure of any longer was the desire that had consumed him for centuries to meet his soulmate. With that ridiculous face and bitter temperament, he had had to operate a slight reevaluation regarding that particular plan. But that didn't weight much in the balance. He was sure he didn't want to stay on Gallifrey and die among piles of books about planets he'd never get the chance to see with his own eyes. And it seemed that was the exact same thing the Academy was about to steal away from him.

"We need you here, my boy," the headmaster said, bowing his head as if he didn't want to look into his eyes and see the rage inflame his cheeks. "We have other plans for you."

"I don't care about your plans," he seethed, knowing very well what would come next. "I'm a Time Lord, and I'm entitled to do things the way I want, just like all the others. And I want to go."

"You will not be given a Tardis. You possess invaluable potential we will not waste to the guts of the universe. You will stay here, and be trained to be the new Head of the Military. President's orders."

"You can't do that!" he roared, tearing the pin off his robe and slamming it down on the smooth surface of the desk. "Look at that, see that? Look at it and tell me I don't deserve my Tardis! Look at it!"

"I see it," the headmaster answered with every ounce of calm and control he could muster. "And that it precisely the reason why you will stay. We need your intelligence and the knowledge you've acquired over the years. This is final, my boy. You start your training tomorrow. You will now be taken you to your new quarters."

"What? _What_ ?"

Before he could fill his lungs with fresh air to scream out the mountain of protests he wanted to crush the old scoundrel under, someone grabbed him forcefully by the arm and dragged him out of the office, all notions of ceremony forgotten.

"Keep quiet and follow me," a voice he recognized as belonging to his geography teacher instructed. "We have to be quick."

"What do you mean?" he growled, unsuccessful in prying his long fingers off his arms. "Where are you taking me? I'm telling you, I won't be part of that stupid army, I'm not a bloody soldier."

The professor eyed him with a smirk and kept pulling him like a vulgar child trotting in his steps - though the newly promoted Time Lord felt the fingers slacken their hold and the pace slow down a little.

"I'm taking you to your Tardis, Doctor ," the professor offered with connivance, finally releasing him when he was sure he wouldn't attempt to run away. "So you can fight your own battles."

"I don't have a Tardis," he answered with a grimace, thinking that bald teacher had gone a bit mad. "They won't give me one, they want me to stay here. Head of the Military, what a bunch of..."

"You've had a Tardis for two centuries, son."

It was only then that he realized they were headed towards a classroom. The Tardis flight lessons classroom, more precisely. With the Tardis in the shape of a blue box engraved with English letters he had borrowed after the half-term party. They walked into the empty room and there stood the ship, with his door already half-open as if she was waiting for her owner to enter. He was welcomed with a pleased hum that made his eardrums buzz with a comforting vibe and the thin hairs at the base of his neck rise in guilty satisfaction. He rubbed his temple when he felt the birth of a connection with the ship, like silver tendrils reaching out to his mind and wrapping it into an uncanny feeling of friendship and compassion. His Tardis.

He watched the professor walk to him after fetching two necklaces from a jewelry box and took the chains he was offered.

"Two keys," the professor explained, clasping his palm over his. "One for you, one for the one you're after. Go to Earth. Find them and don't come back. Live the life you've always wanted, boy."

"But," he started in a whisper, weighing the keys into his hand. "They'll come after me. I'm stealing a Tardis."

"It's not stealing if she's already yours," he winked as he led him to the door of the ship that started to wheeze with a bit more conviction. "She'll hide you. You won't ever be found. Just promise me you won't give up on your dreams."

"It's no use. My soulmate, she's not… I'm not what she wants," he lamented, the prospect of going to Earth and meet her suddenly much more terrifying now that it was just within reach.

"Then become what she wants. Or would you rather take up the President's offer and never meet her?"

"I… I don't know, she…"

"Oh, trust me, you know. Now go."

"But…"

"They're coming. Just go, for Rassilon's sake!"

He was shoved into the ship without any further warning and the wooden door slammed shut behind him, something of a thrilled laugh echoing through his ribcage. The time rotor began to whir, rise and fall like a well-oiled mechanic, and he was glad it was acting on his own because in that moment he would have been quite incapable of remembering anything about his flight lessons. All he remembered was the oath he had made centuries before. An oath that was making the circles on his forearm pulse with a soft blue light and his stomach heave in delight. That rubbish geography professor was right. He knew.

"I'll become what you want," he swore under his breath, staring at the intricate patterns glowing under the red sleeve of his robe. "My _Hulis_ ."

He clung forcefully to the railing as the ship twirled in joy in the Time Vortex and he felt compelled to join her merry song with a loud laugh of his own. He was feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time. Hope.


	6. The Curse & The Nightmare

She punched her robot-shaped alarm clock as hard as her numb arm would allow her to, just to stop the unbearable screech coming from it, and buried her head under her pillow with a groan of annoyance. Seventeen days. It had been seventeen days since she had decided to ignore that alarm in the morning and stay in bed for most of her days. Sometimes she would go out to do some grocery shopping, or hang out with her best friend when he insisted she should take some fresh air instead of suffocating in her tiny student room in an atmosphere heavy with a potpourri smell and thick with cigarette smoke. But often, so often, she would simply lie down on her bed, staring at the ceiling with loud rock music blaring through the speakers of her stereo, or sit against the shower wall under a spray of hot water, staring dumbly at that one cracked tile - bottom, third one from the left.

Mickey had insisted she should see a doctor, because she obviously was going through something akin to a depression episode, but she knew better. She was scared of going out, and she had very good reasons that no doctor would ever understand. Seventeen days. It had started seventeen days ago.

She remembered going to that party that had been organized by the student committee of her university to make all the singles on Valentine's Day meet - or so the distasteful poster covered in hearts and cheesy puns advertised, when it was just an opportunity to get drunk with impunity. Mickey had prompted her to go despite her reticence - she had remembered the incident of the graduation party with way too much accuracy and refused to give that experience another try. But the promise of free booze had been convincing enough, and while she had turned down every invitation from some boys and a few girls, she had made the most of the liters of beer and vodka that kept flowing at the bar. It hadn't been pretty. But she had danced, laughed and sung - screamed - and it had been liberating after a whole term spent nose-deep into her astronomy and physics books. It would have been a perfect night, if it hadn't ended in such a disaster.

Her forearm was still sore, and though it was scarring nicely and she always kept it hidden under a thick sleeve, it was still a painful reminder of what she had gone through. The booze hadn't been enough not to see it, especially since she had taken off her jumper when the heat of the dancefloor coupled with her exertions had become too much to bear. At first she had just thought it was a deception from the spotlights, a trick her eyes played on her because of the wild rhythm of the stroboscopes. But then, there had been no mistaking the blue glow shining from the circles drawn on her skin. The memories were a bit fuzzy, but she remembered with acute precision the panic that had swelled in her stomach and drowned her body in a thick cloud of frenzied terror, the alcohol helping her on the way to dementia. It had been the first time since the graduation party that he mark had shown any sign of life, and in that moment of inhibition, she had been miles away from even considering it might light up again, and so taken off-guard that she hadn't been able to deal with it in a rational way.

He arm heated up under her pillow as she thought back to that moment when her nails had lacerated her skin in a desperate attempt to make that light disappear - and that time, Mickey hadn't been there to stop her. The few images she remembered were ones of blood spilling from the self-inflicted gashes on her skin, of her body being sent tumbling from on side to the other by the excited crowd of dancing people, of the dreadful neon light blinding her, even through the thickness of her blood. Someone must have helped her up at some point - not before someone had stepped on her shoulder and another one crushed her hand with their heels, or so the sequels she still bore hinted - and she barely remembered being thrown onto one of the chairs. And then she remembered the laughs. Something about her speaking words no one could understand, slurred words that didn't make any sense, sounds that didn't match any known song or melody. Her drunken state might have played its part in this, she tried to convince herself - though she perfectly knew she had been properly shouting for them to let her go and stop trying to calm her down.

"Listen up, people, Space Girl is singing a Klingon song!" she remembered one of her classmate shout over the music.

"Shut up, Kieran, she's hurt," one of her friends had answered.

And after that, it was all a blur. A faint smell of sweat and heavy perfume, a lingering taste of juice mixed with alcohol, the loud beat of a rock song pounding in her ears and in her chest. The blinking lights of an ambulance, the tight squeeze of a bandage around her arm, the softness of her duvet as she was put to bed. The nausea, the headache of the morning later, the crushing guilt and the incomprehension of the events. And she had decided she wasn't brave enough to face the scorn, the mockery and the questions that would crush what little was left of her dignity if she ever set foot in one of her class again.

Two years she had spent studying every day, every night, with that wishful hope she wouldn't end up like most people who were born and raised on a poor estate. Two years she had spent learning, searching, reading, writing about the stars, the planets, the universe. Two years struggling to make sense of mathematics, physics and astronomy with that piece of paper in mind. That one PhD that would read her name along with a title that would mean a better future. All of that, blown into tiny pieces by a single mark on her arm she believed was some kind of curse that was bound to follow in her steps, stick to her shadow and accompany her through life like the most persevering of predators after a weak and wounded prey.

Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, the little pink bear she had attached to it falling over the edge onto the arm that was still holding the pillow over her head, as if it tried to tell her she should pick up. She muttered a curse under her breath and threw a quick look at the locked screen - ignoring the twenty-three missed call notifications, twenty-four if she counted that one she wouldn't answer either. Oh, she still loved Mickey dearly, and she always felt a bit guilty to ignore his calls. She simply didn't want to be on the receiving end of his compassion she most definitely didn't deserve, nor did she want to share anything remotely linked to her mark and the madness she thought was slowly taking possession of her brain.

He had been very understanding, even if she knew he didn't quite believe her story. She had told him about the first meeting with the weird boy she remembered. She couldn't be quite sure, but she truly believed he was the one who had gifted her with an odd song on the eve of her tenth birthday. Well, she said a gift . More like the first incantation of the curse that was now bound to her soul and body, and starting to smother her very own life in its fatal grip. Mickey had told her she had been too young at the time to really remember anything, and that it had probably been just the childish fantasy of a little girl too excited about her upcoming birthday party. She had agreed and moved on with her story.

To the time she had seen his deep, sparkling green eyes and his red curls at school on that rainy day. She couldn't be quite sure, but she was fairly certain she had fallen in love with that boy at first sight, despite his common face and bizarre choice of clothes. Well, she said fallen in love . More like he had enchanted her - no, bewitched her, because it had to be some kind of dark magic jinx and not a nice little spell out of a fairytale. Mickey had told her she didn't really know what love was, and that love at first sight was just a myth people liked because it gave them hope. She had found some truth and wisdom in these words, and moved on with her story.

To the time of the graduation party when she had seen him, lost in the massive crowd of student, staring at her while she was pissing herself on the stage. And when she had burnt half the face of that poor Will before what would have been a chaste first kiss. Mickey had told her that there had had to be a few redheads among the sea of people that night and that she couldn't have seen them well with all those spotlights anyway. She had accepted this explanation, though she was still convinced it had been him. Mickey hadn't said anything about what had happened with Will, because nothing rational could justify it. She hadn't either, because every scenario she could come up with could only ever happen in fantasy or sci-fi movies, and she didn't want her best friend to think she was ready to be sent to an asylum just yet.

She hadn't told him about the link between that piece of paper she had picked up at the school after the boy had magically vanished into thin air - no, had managed to run away while she was still rushing down the stairs, she repeated aloud - and the circles that marred her skin. She hadn't told him about the link between the lyrics of the song she had sung when she was just a child and the words she vaguely remembered shouting in the overflowed club seventeen days before - she had been drunk anyway, and anyone could come up with weird-sounding words to pretend they were speaking an alien language, she repeated aloud. She hadn't told him about the link between the heat that spread through her arm, made the cursed circles burn, and those dreams she had every night, in which the red-haired boy always managed to make an apparition - it was just a psychological reaction of some sort and it had nothing to do with a bloody mysterious link, she repeated aloud.

She hadn't told him about those things, because his eyes had been bewildered and sad enough when she had told him about the rest. She didn't want his pity and she most definitely didn't want to lose this precious friendship - which was bound to happen if she insisted on acting like a nutter spilling delusional stories and getting angry when he made close to no effort to believe her. She was alone in this. She'd always be alone.

"Oh for God's sake," she muttered angrily when a series of three sharp knocks made her door rumble. "I'm not in!"

"I'll come in myself if you don't open," Mickey's voice filtered through the door - and even muffled, she could hear the lassitude and exasperation laced through it.

"Christ…"

She kicked back the covers and threw her pink pillow across her tiny room with another loud huff. She dragged her feet to the door as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her worn hoodie and simply flicked the lock open before returning to crash on her bed.

"Damn, do I need to call the firefighters?" Mickey asked, his nose scrunching up at the heavy smell of cigarette floating in the room. "Can you at least open the window? It's a bloody cancerigen sauna in here."

"Is it?" she drawled with that mocking tone even she hated - which didn't prevent her from lightning a half-consumed fag in a petty move of defiance. "At least it's not weed, so there's hope somewhere, I suppose."

"Rose, you do realize you're pushing me far beyond reasonable limits here, right?" he sighed as he went to the window of her kitchenette and opened it as far as it would go in the vain hope of clearing the excessive vapours. "When was the last time you went out? Or even showered, or ate, or drank water?"

"Oi, shut up Micks," she growled, crushing her cigarette atop the small mountain of butts that had accumulated in her ashtray over the week. "I'm not a kid, yeah, I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, obviously," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Just get ready, will you? A chance I got there early or you would have missed it."

"What the Hell are you talking about?"

"The half-term physics exam," he told her as he went to the bathroom to fetch a clean towel from a cupboard. "You might want to throw your life away and ruin all the hard work you've done until now, but I won't let that happen. Now move your ass, get a hot shower, get dressed and we'll stop at Freddie's for a quick meal. You can't survive on Marlboros and that piss lager."

"I haven't been to class in two weeks, no point in going to a test I'll fail," she shrugged, reaching for a new pack of cigarettes.

She gasped when Mickey ripped the pack away from her hands, a furious scowl splattered over his features, and he snatched the two lighters from her bedside table before tossing them out the window. He then bent forward to face her and roughly cupped her face so he could stare at her, lest she'd look away to flee his accusing frown.

"This isn't you, Rose!" he almost shouted, unable to feel any guilt when tears filled her whiskey eyes. "Look at you, God dammit! You used to be so pretty, so nice, so full of life. So bloody brilliant. What happened to you, eh? What happened to my best friend? What have you done to her?"

"Mickey…" she tried to apologize, but he wouldn't give her that chance she didn't deserve.

"I won't swallow any more of your shite excuses, Rose," he shook his head forcefully. "I'm done. Now get your ass in the shower and get ready, or I swear to anyone who'll listen that I'll grab you by the knickers and and throw you in it myself. Five minutes. If you're not out I'll barge in, naked or not. Go."

She could only nod, too shocked to protest, and went to her tiny wardrobe to fetch clean clothes, feeling his oppressing gaze over her back as she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She waited until she had divested herself of her old hoodie, dirty jumper and soiled sweatpants, turned on the tap and made sure he wouldn't hear her over the sound of water before she let the wave of sobs crash over her. The seconds were counting down and she knew he would hold true to his word, so she hopped into the shower and managed to find her bottle of peach-scented shampoo through the heavy tears and steam of the hot water. She fiercely avoided looking at the rosy scars drawing sharp lines on her forearm and the nacre circles etched under her skin. It didn't stop her from cursing profusely at them. It didn't help with the rage flowing in her veins, nor with the desperation sizzling in her stomach.

"That's all because of you," she seethed through her clenched teeth between two sobs. "What are you? What the fuck are you?"

She didn't get an answer, and though it would have terrified her if she did, it only made her tears heavier. She lathered her shampoo through her blond locks with such jerky movements that she uprooted a few hairs and winced when her fingers met an unwilling knot - she actually couldn't remember the last time she'd properly brushed them and her scalp was repaying that debt. She made a quick job of washing the rest of her body all while trying to tame the crying that refused to die down, and when she was done she quickly reached for the clean towel Mickey had prepared next to the sink and dried herself. She donned her clean clothes, and with a soft sigh she realized it felt rather good to be rid of the smell of cigarette and the disagreeable feeling of sticky fingers and filthy skin. Mickey hadn't asked for much more, but, old habits dying hard, she felt compelled to add a layer of black eyeshadow and mascara - it had the advantage of mostly hiding her puffy eyes, which wasn't a bad thing.

"You doing okay in there?" Mickey asked through the door as she put her makeup back in its pouch.

"Yeah, done," she answered, opening the door to see he had made her bed and prepared her backpack. "Mickey…"

"Be very careful about what you're going to say, Rose," he warned with a dark look.

"I just wanted to ask if you could brush my hair," she said softly, handing him her hairbrush and a few rubber bands. "I'd like braids and you're the best at making them."

His eyes immediately softened at the unexpected request and a small smile finally greeted his features.

"'Course I can, princess," he nodded, sitting down on the bed next to her. "Regular braids, or something a bit fancier?"

"I like the fishtail ones," she admitted with a sheepish shrug. "If it's not too much to ask."

"Er, I might be a bit out of practice, but I'll give it my best shot, yeah?"

She closed her eyes as he started to carefully brush her hair, untying the bigger knots with his fingers so she wouldn't feel too much pain, then going with the brush until her damp hair was smooth and evenly split on each side of her head. She had missed this. This had always been the kind of moments she loved to share with him, some intimate connection that sparked to life even if they didn't talk. It was all in the way his hands spoke, when he tugged lightly on a strand, when his fingers whispered against the skin of her neck, when his palm hovered over her head right before he would flatten her hair. She closed her eyes to better appreciate it, playing that game she had devised that consisted in guessing where his hand would land next - a lame game he wasn't even aware she was playing, thus the often questioning raise of his eyebrows whenever she chuckled or tsked. It was so soothing that she would have gladly let him brush her hair before she went to bed so he could lull her to sleep.

"All done," he declared with a proud smile as he snapped the last rubber band around the end of the braid. "Didn't turn out that bad."

"Thank you, Mickey," she offered in return, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as a reward.

"Any time, princess. So, put your coat and your shoes on and let's get going. The exam's in less than two hours and you need to feed the monster that seems to be living in your belly."

"I ate a large pizza yesterday," she pouted while she wrapped herself into her large pea jacket. "And chips. Like, lots of chips. My stomach is fine."

"You stomach is a grease sack, it's a wonder you're not as large as your bed by now," he rectified, following her through the door before she locked it. "Come on, now. We're going to eat some real food for once, eh?"

"Yes, Sir…"

Half an hour later, she put down her plastic fork with a contented sigh, thinking that chicken salad was without a doubt the best she'd ever had. Mickey had excused himself a few minutes earlier, pretending he needed to go to the loo before they'd get on their way to the nearby university, and she had believed it. But then she watched in awe - and just a teeny bit of embarrassment - as he walked towards her with a goofy smile and a candle stuck askew in a large piece of chocolate cake. He set it down before her and planted a kiss on her temple as he tucked a silver spoon between en fingers.

"Didn't think I'd have forgotten about your birthday, princess?" he playfully teased, seemingly pleased by the surprise written all over her face.

"Mickey I…" she started, though the sudden rush of emotion made it hard to master her trembling voice. "I didn't… To be honest, I kinda forgot it was my birthday today."

"And that's what I'm here for," he grinned, giving her ribs a gentle poke. "Even got you a present. Not much, mind, but I thought… Well, see for yourself."

He reached inside his pocket and set a small package wrapped in a bright red paper sprinkled with tiny silver stars. She had no idea what was inside, but the simple fact that he had remembered her birthday and bought her something even after everything she had put him through was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She tore the paper with her quivering fingers and found a deep blue velvet box engraved with golden letters that read a brand name she had never seen before. She felt his anxious eyes on her as she untied the small bow tie on the side of the box and her breath hitched low in her throat when she saw it.

"Mickey, this is beautiful," she whispered, freeing the item from the clasps to get a better look at it.

It was an elegant black fountain pen, slim and slightly curved, that was crowned with a shiny golden nib. But what struck her the most was the cap, on the top of which a tiny silver Saturn was welded, a fine work that was so accurate in its scaled proportion she had to inwardly salute whoever had carved it into the precious material.

"I want you to use it for all your upcoming exams," Mickey stated, smiling at the way she reverently turned it into her hands and finally realized her name was chiseled into the gold clip. "I want you to look at that planet and remember why you're doing this. This is your future, Rose. And I won't let you give up. I've seen you work too damn hard for this. So promise me you won't ever even consider giving up again. You'll be a brilliant astrophysicist and you're going to make me proud that I'm your best friend. Okay?"

"I don't know what to say," she chuckled through a sob, clasping her fingers around his.

"Just promise me you'll get better and you'll give that PhD your best shot. You can do it, Rose, I really mean it. I believe in you more than in anyone else."

"I...Yeah, I promise," she nodded before she drew him into a tight and comforting hug. "I love you, Mickey."

"I love you too, princess. Just... Don't tell Martha I've said that."

She laughed heartily at his comical grimace and stuffed a good piece of chocolate cake into her mouth. Oh yes, she loved Mickey. She would never, ever, risk losing his friendship again.

He wasn't entirely satisfied with his choice of clothes, but then again, he wasn't entirely satisfied with his body and his face either, so it made the disheartened resolve easier to swallow. He smoothed the few creases of his pinstriped jacket with the flat of his palms, tightened the knot of his deep brown tie sewn with blue flowers, pondered for a moment if he ought to trade those old chucks for polished shoes, decided he deserved to wear comfortable shoes after more than four centuries spent with hard-soled sandals, tugged on his brown spikes of hair - the only thing he actually quite liked about this body despite the woeful memory of his ginger curls.

Overall, he thought he could fit into her world. Remained to see if he could also fit into her life.

His guts twisted anxiously when he went to the Tardis door and his double heartbeat skyrocketed in his chest. The small pendant he was still wearing under his light blue Oxford shirt burnt in the small dip between his clavicles, and his soulmark lit to life as soon as the door opened on a small patch of green grass and a square of blue sky dotted with a few clouds. One breath of that cold air heavy with too much carbon and he could already smell her from the distance. One step outside and it was as if he could already feel the touch of her warm fingers against his cheek. One look towards that big building dominating the garden and his mind screamed and wailed when it felt her overwhelming presence, just over there, a minute away.

He choked on a sob and let his body fall back against the blue door of his ship, unable to trust his wobbling legs to hold his weight. More than four hundred years after feeling her for the first time. Two centuries after seeing her for the first time. The time had come. He was about to meet his soulmate. And, against his most tenacious beliefs, he wasn't feeling as good as he had imagined. No. There was no joy, there was fear. There was no excitement, there was worry. There was no satisfaction, there was dread. Too many questions, too many doubts, not enough certitudes.

He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and stop breathing when his stomach heaved and churned. He didn't know why, but the fantasy that had guided his steps to this point was turning into a nightmare.


End file.
